before it begins
voices sift between the seated
like forest sounds at night
a pair of too loud laughs
cuts through the mumble
torsos twist on metal seats
late comers apologize for
brushing legs to get to theirs’s
a microphone is tapped twice
then a silence
like rain that is about to fall
or the moon about to rise
or a door about to open
or a word about to be spoken
this poem is about that
that hovering moment
air crackling with anticipation
all eyes crystallize on
the speaker approaching
the lectern
if you could stand up here
and see what I see
if there’s even words
to describe it
a look of what . . .
a group panning for gold
or a bit of joy
connection
love?
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